Roland Voros came in followed in quick succession by the Lord Verm, the Master of War, and then by Prinze Hector von Bulow who was filling in for his father, the Master of Requisitions. Prinze Wilhelm was still forbidden to leave Juist Island. Voros sat down at the head of the table. Lord Lindorm was on his right, as in council, and Lord Drake on his left. Hector took the seat between Lindorm and Hugo. And Verm sat beside Lord Drake.
“May we know, Lord Lindorm, why you have summoned us to France?” Roland asked. He did not look jetlagged. But since he had come hotfoot from Tarakona in the Tasman Sea, Hugo knew he had to be.
“I have three items of news that I did not dare entrust to any form of electronics,” Lindorm apologized. “Hector, would you make your report, please?”
“Certainly. I bring my father’s abject apologies for failing a second time in his duties.” Hector looked uncertainly around the table. “Since we were visited by Lord Ivan,” Hector continued. “We have made two discoveries.
“The first, is the real reason that Prinze Reinhardt did not go to with my Grandmother and Mother to Spain this spring. Last year when Grandfather visited there, he had what my grandmother describes as ‘an episode’. We have consulted his physician. Dr. Bosch admits that he thought then that the Duke had suffered a small stroke. But he is now leaning towards another explanation. He believes it is more likely that last year Prinze Reinhardt was poisoned. Probably with sodium pentothal, which would account for his reaction to what the pathology laboratory reports to have been a relatively small dose to cause death.”
There were gasps of outrage all around the table, followed by head shaking. Everyone knew that dragons were acutely sensitive to drugs.
“You believe that the Grand Duke was given sodium pentothal in Spain. Go on,” said Voros encouragingly.
“Two days ago my cousin Rudolf discovered that on the night of his death, repeated unauthorized entries were attempted on the Prinze’s cellular phone, on his laptop, and on his tablet. It seems reasonable to suppose that the thief tried to get the Duke to give him the correct passwords and failed.” Hector permitted himself a thin smile.
“Let me guess,” said Lindorm dryly, “Reinhardt actually relied on his sword bearers to remember his passwords?”
Hector nodded. “He did. He didn’t mind using the latest technology, but he could never recall the passwords. He couldn’t tell his murderer what he didn’t know.”
“Ignorance seems to have served him well,” said Verm grimly.
“Thirdly, we found there was one thing more missing from his bedroom,” Hector paused and looked around. “Grandpapa had spent years researching the Treasury. He had compiled an inventory of its fabled treasures. He conceded that if most of them had ever existed, they no longer did. And certainly not in the Vault of this castle.”
Hector’s face was now rather red. “Grandfather had his fantasy inventory written out in Latin on vellum and illuminated, and bound in tooled leather,” he continued sheepishly. “He was inordinately proud of it, and it is missing. We think the thief took it believing it to be real.”
Hector pulled his phone out and passed it around the table. The volume did in fact look exactly as if it predated the printing press.
“Send me that photo, Prinze,” Lindorm requested.
The Master of War laughed bitterly. “Never mind, Verm,” Lindorm said gently. “Our treasures are quite safe. As Treasurer I have made sure of that. I have set a trap for the thief. I have some security footage here.” He opened his laptop.
The six dragon lords crowded around Lord Lindorm’s laptop and peered at the screen. The images clearly showed a dark brown door set into a limestone wall. It made dull viewing until inexplicably, the focus blurred. Time passed and then the image became clearly focused again.
“Shall we see that again?” asked Voros.
Lindorm played it through again. “What do you think, gentlemen?”
“I had similarly odd security footage on Tarakona,” Voros admitted. “We discovered it only after we were attacked from within the house. It was why I told you that I believed Vadim had mastered the spell of the cloak of invisibility. It looks as though he shared the secret.”
“Vladimir the Enforcer.” By their resigned faces, Hugo had only spoken the others’ thoughts aloud. Nods greeted his words.
Lindorm shook his head. “If he exists, Vladimir the Enforcer is supposedly a criminal in the Kiev Mafia. This attack on Prinze Reinhardt, like the attacks on Lady Sarkany and Lady Voros, is of an entirely different character from the illegal activities of organized crime. We must look within the Guild of Dragons for the villain we seek.”
He waited for the others to absorb what he had said. “I asked Lord Sarkany to join us here today,” he continued, “In his capacity as Guardian of the Treasury. I wish to open the Vault so we can be assured that it has not been pillaged.”
“Is there an inventory? I mean, an up to date inventory?” gruff Lord Verm asked.
“Certainly.”
“I thought that the thief had taken the Key to the Treasury?” Voros said puzzled. “How will we get into the Vault?”
“He did.” Lindorm’s voice was grim and cold. “But the House von Bulow is only one of the three Guardians of the Treasury. There are in fact three guardians and three keys. But this may not be known to our thief, as it was not known to you, Marshal. As Eldest of the House of Lindorm, I have a Key and Hugo Sarkany has another. We only need one, but we must also have a guardian present to recite the words of power that open the door. Shall we descend to the Vault and inspect its contents?”
* * *
“You’re being unpleasant because you are worried about talking to Uncle Thor,” Christina said. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“First of all, what makes you think I intend to speak to Lord Lindorm, and secondly, that I want your skirts — or any woman’s — to hide behind.” Ivan stared down his nose at her.
She gurgled and rolled her eyes. “Dragons run true to type. There might be a dragon somewhere who would think he could just waltz off with a dragoness born without asking permission of her family, but he wouldn’t be you. Of course, you may have planned to speak to Papa first,” she finished thoughtfully. “I could still come with you.”
“You could. But when I speak to your uncle and or your father, they will have things to say to me that they wouldn’t wish to say in front of you.”
“You expect them to be angry.”
“Not especially,” he lied. “But there will be things to be negotiated.” Like whether or not they shot him, or went with the more traditional cremation.
“They have been waiting sixteen years to see me married to the heir of the Duke of Estremaura. They’re going to be disappointed. I’ll come with you,” she offered again.
“I can deal with disappointment.” Fury was a different matter.
But when he showed up outside Lindorm’s study the sword bearer on guard shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lord Ivan,” Oskar Lindorm said. “The Eldest has gone out.”
So he had another afternoon to live. Perhaps he could have another few hours with Christina.
* * *
It was a long walk to the lowest levels of the castle. Lord Drake was the only one, besides Lindorm, who had ever been all the way down the winding stone staircases to the very depths. The mortared stonework vanished and was replaced by smooth limestone walls out of which the dungeons and cellars had been excavated.
“Dug it out by hand,” said Drake chattily. “Look you can see the tool marks on these walls. The storerooms were plastered, but not the passageways and not the cells. See where they had to shim the tunnels with stones as they cut through the limestone?” He pointed to great slabs of granite that supported the limestone. “And we of course have had to reinforce with steel.” He indicated massive orange girders. “Not very attractive, hey? But rustproof, don’t you know.
“After the war — the first world war that is — we re-purposed th
e dungeons for wine cellars. Hadn’t really needed to keep prisoners in centuries,” Drake continued. Clearly Lord Drake regretted the lapsing of his traditional duties as Warden. “The Vault was tucked into the driest part of the dungeons. But I’d think it would still be a bit damp for storage, hey?” he said questioningly.
“The Council arranged climate controlled storage years ago when the late Lord Sarkany was the High Marshal,” Lindorm said. “We moved the perishables. Not much left in the Vault except armor and chests of coins, is there Hector?”
“So my father tells me, Treasurer,” Hector said amused. “These days, the Treasury of the Guild of Dragons, such as it is, lies in a nice safe Swiss bank.”
Lindorm removed a huge iron key from his pocket. It was plain and looked identical to Hugo’s. “Sarkany, Bulow, if you would be ready to speak the words of power,” Lindorm said. “In unison, if you please. These old doors are particular, and if you don’t get the timing right, they won’t open.”
The door to the vault was unassuming. It only about five-feet-high, made of unornamented oak reinforced with iron plates. “The doorway is short, so a prisoner trying to escape would have to bend and could be dealt with expeditiously,” said Drake knowledgeably.
“What if someone had to go into a prison cell?” asked Hugo. “Wouldn’t he risk getting a crack on the skull?”
Drake looked pityingly at him. “Our ancestors intended them as one way doors, Sarkany,” he said and cackled. “Not that this is the original door, hey. This one was cut down from the Treasure House of the Duke of Balaur.”
A strangled cough from Hugo, had Drake clearing his throat hastily. “Fine workmanship, hey?”
Hugo ignored him.
Lindorm put the key in the big lock but did not attempt to turn it. “Are you ready, Sarkany? Bulow?” he said.
They nodded. “Now,” Lindorm said.
Hector and Hugo began to recite the ancient words, weaving them together into a potent command. Lindorm listened carefully and at the correct moment he turned the Key. With a noise like an ill-tempered crow, the narrow door swung open. Lord Lindorm invited the other dragons to enter. One by one they bent and filed in. It was a close fit in the crowded room.
There was no light in the eight-by-twenty foot room except for the lantern carried by Lindorm. High on the wall a single narrow slot had been bricked up. A low platform cut out of the limestone bedrock ran around the room. Presumably, this had once served as a damp and chilly bed for unfortunate prisoners awaiting ransom.
Dusty armor and weaponry hung on the walls and underpinned a fine collection of cobwebs. Beneath them neat rows of battered chests sporting labels stood on the erstwhile beds. Another row of chests stood in front of those. There wasn’t much floor space left and yet it was no cave of marvels. Hugo stifled a gasp. This was not the fabulous treasure house of his imaginings.
Lord Drake sneezed. “Forgive me, my lords,” he blurted. “I would be better outside, hey.” He stooped and left.
Verm followed him muttering about the closeness of the air. It was in fact both stuffy and cold. And so far from the hoard of which Hugo had heard his great-grandfather speak that he had to stifle a moment’s doubt. “There’s not much here,” he said.
“No,” agreed Lindorm.
Roland Voros started reading the labels on the chests, and began to laugh. “Fragments of the one true cross...Tears of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Tears of the Blessed Saints/, Tears of Our Savior...Blood ditto...Silver ingots...gold ingots...Coins French...Coins Portuguese...” he broke off before he had gone around the room.
“What would you, High Marshal?” Lindorm was testy. “I could not in conscience have the Guild pay for storage on the half of the nonsense our forebears though worthy of requisitioning over the millennia. This is primarily damaged or counterfeit objects. We have six chests alone of shards of the one true cross.”
“Who collected this rubbish?” Voros demanded chuckling.
Lindorm sighed. “Not every Master of Requisitions was a dragon of talent, by any means. And of course, in the old pagan days when a monastery or church was looted, the dragons kept the gold or silver reliquaries and tossed the relics in here.” He coughed apologetically. “When Prinze Reinhardt and I had sorted our treasures, we found ourselves unable to part with the collections of our forebears. It seemed disrespectful.”
Roland, Hector and Hugo nodded sympathetically. Hoarding was a dragon characteristic. Sorting was a hobby. Deacquisition was peculiar.
Hugo attempted to raise the lid of the chest before him and to his surprise it lifted easily. “Not locked?” he asked amused.
“Not locked,” confirmed Lindorm. “Any thief could easily lift any of these and carry it off. Only a fool would bother emptying it first. We have assumed that any thief would take the entire thing. Also, as I said, it’s mainly counterfeit.”
Hugo bent and picked up the one before him. The label said ‘Gold Ingots’ but although it was heavy, he could lift it easily. He set it back down and lifted the lid. It was only half full. He picked up one of the glittering bars and began to laugh. He handed it to Voros who chuckled and passed it to Hector.
“Lead,” said Hector. “With a thin skin of gold.”
“Indeed, said Lindorm. “Not valueless, but certainly not the tribute the Master of Requisitions who seized it believed it to be. Perhaps one day the Guild will need to melt it down and reclaim the gold and lead, but in the meantime these things are safe enough down here. And as far as I can tell, nothing has been touched.” He pulled a printed list from inside his jacket and handed it to Hector. “Deputy of Requisitions, would you begin the inventory?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Aunt Inge’s scavenger hunt had certainly broken the ice. Gretchen had stopped trying to flirt with poor Kian, and transferred her interest to Lord Richmond. For his part, Richmond seemed to be just as taken with little Gretchen. He was telling her some tale that made her whole face light up. Gretchen was only seventeen, and no one was going to let her be snapped up at her age. If Lord Richmond had made his choice, he would have a long wait for her to grow up.
Just as Felipe had waited for her. Guilt sat like a brick on Christina’s heart. She glanced sideways at Ivan who was sitting on her side of the luncheon table between his sister-in-law and Lady Drake. Their husbands were absent as were Papa, Uncle Sven and Uncle Thor. Ivan appeared to be intact, so either he had had less trouble from the Eldest than he expected, or had been unable to find him to make his claim. Suddenly her portion of Coquilles St. Jacques turned to ashes in her mouth. She might have been eating sand rather than scallops.
“By the way, Chrissy, have you spoken to Felipe today?” Anna asked, as she and Christina left the dining room afterwards.
More guilt. She shook her head. “I haven’t called him today, and I was busy with the scavenger hunt this morning. Why?”
“I wondered if he had told you when he plans to get here,” Mamma returned.
Chrissy pulled out her cell. There were no texts from Felipe. No missed calls. “I suppose he might have called on Skype.” She scrolled through. “Nope.”
Mamma guided her down the hall away from the drawing room and past the staircase that led to her wing. “Let’s go sit in the ladies’ salon,” she said. “I left my knitting there.”
The ladies’ salon was a bright room that had been traditionally set aside for the Countess Lindorm and her female guests. It was a cheerful room with a bank of low windows overlooking a pretty courtyard planted with spring flowers. Comfortable armchairs had been placed around four tables. Christina supposed in previous centuries ladies gathered in this room to chat, compose their letters, and stitch. Aunt Inge’s needlepoint frame was set up beside an armless chair overlooking the courtyard.
No one was using the room. Mamma closed the door and pulled Christina over to the window. She peered into the garden as if she expected to see eavesdroppers stationed in the flowerbeds.
“What is going on between yo
u and Lord Ivan?” she hissed.
Christina felt a tide of blood heat her cheeks. “Um,” she said. “I think I’m in love with him.”
Mamma pursed her lips. “Are you sure? What do you plan to say to Felipe?”
Christina hung her head. “I’m behaving badly, Mamma, I know it. But I don’t seem to be able to help myself. I have to tell Felipe, I know I do, but first I have to tell the Eldest.”
“Surely you have told Ivan that you are pledged to Felipe?” Mamma said scandalized.
“But I am not,” Christina protested. “Felipe may have agreed to marry me, but I have never promised to marry him. Moreover, he has never spoken the words to me. Ivan has.”
“What do you mean?”
Time for the shit to hit the proverbial fan. “Ivan has claimed me, Mamma, by right of capture,” she confessed.
“Are you certain?” Mamma demanded, her blue eyes snapping.
“Of course I’m certain! It’s not a thing you can miss.”
Mamma sat down abruptly. “Oh my,” she said weakly.”
“I’m sorry, Mamma, but it just happened.”
“Right of capture,” Mamma wondered aloud. “Felipe’s claim may still be the stronger. I don’t know what the Eldest will say.”
Christina nodded sadly. “He may decide that I have to marry Felipe regardless of my feelings for Ivan.”
“Does Ivan truly think he’s turned you?”
“I told him I was a dragoness born, and he claimed me anyway. He’s been trying to speak to the Eldest for two days, but Uncle Thorvald hasn’t been available.”
Christina watched relief wash across Mamma’s face. “Not available?”
“No, every time I go to his study, Oskar or Anders or Lars sends me packing. But of course they must tell him I wish to see him. That’s part of their duties. And Ivan has been trying too.”
“Well, well,” Mamma said with satisfaction. “Now that is very interesting indeed. You better go change into your tennis things, your aunt Inge was collecting people to play mixed doubles.”
“Yes, Mamma.” Christina rose to her feet. “Do you mind?”
Dragon's Pleasure (BBW / Dragon Shifter Romance) (Lords of the Dragon Islands Book 3) Page 15